When life was simpler
by Angealy
Summary: Collection of musings how the relationship between Death and a young War may have developed long before and after the genocide. Pictures Death and how his demeanor changes during War's different life phases. Maybe explains a little (or not) why War trusts his older brother almost implicitly and why Death acts protectively around him. Also thoughts on Nephilim society.
1. Birthdays and Absences

This is a collection of different situations. All of them are connected somehow, but could also be seen as stand alone. There is no particular beginning or ending, but they happen in the same universe at different phases in War's life. The ideas pop up in my head in random order.  
Writing and describing characters is hard, when no one knows how things were before main events.

* * *

 _"No!" a very young War said, stomping his foot to the ground. "I don't want you to go!"_

 _"Don't act like this. It's not like I haven't been away before.", a stern voice rasped._

 _"But you will be gone for a whole year!", the small voice whined again. "I don't want that!"_

 _"Stop inducing drama, War. You don't depend on me."_

 _"That's not...! You are stupid!" With that small feet tapped away and the slamming of a door could be heard._

That was around five days ago and the child still refused to talk to him. Death knew that War was just being stubborn and decided to let the youngling sulk in his corner. He had to learn that things don't always go as he wanted them to.  
But the Firstborn still felt slightly sorry for him. War was very fond of him as a brother and mentor. Death would be lying if he said he didn't adore the young Nephilim just as much. Of course, he would never admit it openly. But others still mention that he had become a little... soft since War's birth.  
 _Screw them._

Death went to War's room. The youngling was reading a book he had given him on his birthday a couple weeks ago. A whole collection of those books existed covering various time lines and different adventures. One wouldn't believe it, but these books were really hard to find and quite expensive.  
The tales were about an honorable swordsman clad in a green tunic and equivalent long green hat. Always protecting the weak and never fighting an injured enemy. Death had read these stories to War when he was still a toddler, but the Firstborn never understood those romantic adventures himself. Real life was completely different, yet his young brother seemed to like them.

"War.", his deep voice slightly resonated from the walls. The child looked up, recognized Death, put on his pouting face and then turned to reading again.  
 _Still the silent treatment._

"I'm going to the training planes to make the last preparations for our departure."

War just nodded and his older brother left him alone.

In the beginning Death had seen it as a nuisance to always take care of the youngling. He had better things to do. Books had to be read, knowledge to be gained and new weapons to be mastered. But others did compliment him for raising young Nephilim. They always turned out to be exquisite fighters, respectable personalities and slightly obnoxious conversationalists. And of course, he was good at educating. Everything he began should be finished as perfect as possible.  
Still, being good at something didn't mean he wanted to do it. But according to Absalom he had to take care of War, as he was, apparently, the only one capable of doing it. So Death did and ended up having War around him all the time.

Well, most of the time. Right now said youngling was in his own room pouting. Death had noticed, since War got the news, that the younger one was less present around him. Usually the child never missed a chance to be with him.  
 _Such strange behavior._

Death walked into the general direction of his destination. He made a short detour to the stables and checked on his horse. On his way further he greeted a few warriors, who would be riding with him the next day.  
When the Firstborn finally reached the training grounds his trainee unit was already waiting. He was supposed to train them, but his long absence would make it difficult. But he still showed them movements, which he wanted them to master until he came back. These where advanced techniques, but they had enough time to practice them.  
After the training session, which lasted longer than usual, there was a short briefing scheduled with his own fellow squad members. Absalom and an advance party were already waiting for them to join. Other units would soon follow. This conquest wouldn't be as easy as the previous one.

The day went by fast and he made sure to look out for white hair. But white hair couldn't be seen anywhere.

When the sun was setting, he made a short detour yet again and went to the small library. Death and Absalom had a heated argument about the need of books and tomes for the young generation. In the end he could enforce at least a small house full with books. Death did plan to expand it in the near future even if he had to hammer the nails himself.

The Firstborn wanted to read about something particular but couldn't remember if he'd seen it in one of the books there. He didn't discover anything, so he went to his private book collection. There was just little more information needed to make War's next birthday present.  
It was a hassle, really. Being creative and thinking about what someone may want or be happy about. Then going through more trouble than it's justified, simply to get a present ready in time. Death shook his head.  
 _The things War does to me._

The Firstborn had no idea how, but in the end the former tiny newborn and now youngling had slowly worked his way into his cold heart. He still contemplates sometimes, how someone still so small and so oblivious to the world managed to wrap him around a finger. War being incredibly stubborn was probably a helping factor.  
Death thought of himself as not a really loving or caring person. In fact he was a ruthless, opportunistic, arrogant and sarcastic bastard. As seen by many and partly himself. But sometimes things tend to change and with time he couldn't muster the motivation to be all that in front of little War.

The younger face always lightened up whenever their eyes met. In the beginning the Firstborn couldn't help but feel incredibly confused about this. Why was this newborn so happy to see him? He'd never got a reaction like that with the other infants. With War growing Death's confusion grew with him. The little one always kept coming to him and hugging him more than necessary. Obviously, at first it was very, _very_ awkward for the older brother.

He then slowly came to realize that his irritated feeling was actually just the feeling of a tiny spark of joy. Someone was openly and genuinely happy to see him, even if it was just a kid. There was no lustful glance, no deceiving act and no ulterior motive. War, in his simplest appearance as a youngling, just wanted to be with him, because he liked him. That was probably something that made Death's heart melt and silently starting to treasure the young Nephilim with white hair.

Around night time he was standing in the middle of his bedchamber pondering his own preparations. His scythes were on the usual spot on the wall, his bag was packed with the necessary things only and a small leather pouch was lying right beside. In this pouch he would transport War's present.  
He put his hands on his hips thinking about something.  
 _I should probably see War again before I leave. Even if he won't talk to me._

Death never let it show, but he was quite irritated by War's reaction and behavior up until now. He believed the youngling would try to spent even more time with him, knowing that they will be apart for a while.  
It must have something to do with childhood. Everything that couldn't be explained rationally, Death always blamed on childhood.

The Firstborn himself never experienced the hardships of growing up. When he was 'born', he was in an adult body and ready to fight. Of course there was always room for improvement and he honed his skills whenever possible. But experiencing one's own body growing, showing 'childish' behavior or just playing innocently on the fields were things he'll never be able to comprehend.

Death turned to his door. He knew he had to and wanted to talk to War, but he didn't know what to tell him. They won't see each other for a longer time and upsetting the little one even more was out of question.  
 _What to do. What to do._  
His thoughts were interrupted, when he walked to his, lately, always open door. Big surprised eyes greeted him.

"War?"

"Ah...um...", the smaller figure looked to the ground.

"Come in." Death stepped back to let him pass. So War did overcome his stubbornness and came back to him? The younger one was standing in the middle of his room, looking here and there, like a lost puppy.

"What is it, War?"

"Uhm..."

Death raised an eyebrow. The youngling wasn't the type of beating around the bush. He was also not the type to apologize so fast. The Firstborn waited patiently.  
Then War suddenly came closer to him and grabbed the fabric of his pants. Death casually noticed how War still didn't even reach his waist.

"Can I stay the night, brother? I want to sleep in your bed."

"War, I-"

"Pleeeeease?", little War asked in a very cute and pouty voice. He looked up with his big, blue shining eyes and had his hands clasped together in front of his chest. The young Nephilim was obviously trying very hard to get his will.  
 _Someone is using dirty tricks._

Death exhaled. War was using all of his effective methods to melt the older brother's hard look and it was working far too well.  
Maybe he _was_ getting soft. "Fine."

"Yay!", the smaller one exclaimed and threw himself onto his brother's bed.  
That was a fast change in moods. The Firstborn snorted at that. Sometimes it was amusing how the young Nephilim acted.

They ended up with War sleeping peacefully on Death's torso.

The older brother stroked the white hair absently. Soon, when War started to grew into an adult, they won't be able to do this anymore. Not because Death wanted it to stop, which, of course, he would never admit. It will be either War growing out of his need for him or others prying them apart.  
There were bad tongues already, saying that their attachment to each other was unhealthy. How sick it was of Death to let the small boy sleep in the same bed as him. Allegedly forcing the child to do unspeakable dirty acts and taking delight in the youngling's unusual appearance.

What others think about Death was their problem. However, he soon had to stop their openly close relationship nonetheless. For War's sake. He had to stop before the younger Nephilim was shut out or being victimized. But now was not the best of times. Death would have to slowly start distancing himself when War reached adolescence.  
Later he would see that this plan was harder to realize than expected, as War would just deny his attempts at severing the bond between them.

Death tried to move a little to get a better positioning for sleeping, but War slightly stirred. The older immediately stopped in his tracks and slumped back to the previous state.  
 _Uncomfortable position it is._  
He reached slowly and awkwardly for the dimmed crystal as not to disturb the child on his chest. The light went completely off and soon Death joined War in dreamland.

The next morning the Firstborn expected a small pile of War in his arms upon waking up. But instead he found empty sheets beside him.  
 _Huh?_  
Death was confused by that but nevertheless got going. He was running late judging from the position of the sun. They would be riding very soon.

Fortunately he already made arrangements for War. As long as he was away the youngling would stay with the adolescent twins Strife and Fury. Death knew he raised them well, so little War would have no problems. Fury would teach him a few close combat skills, while Strife would probably just show him how to be sassy. The fact that the three liked each other was just a coincidental addition.

"War, where are you?", Death asked, raising his voice. But no answer.

Where did that rascal ran again? He packed his things and made his way to the rendezvous point, hoping to see the twins on his way. Or maybe he could even spot War before leaving. Death just hoped he didn't get himself into trouble, because today he had no time to spare to rescue him.

Death was now walking toward his squad and started to give out orders about formation and traveling speed. There was a small ruckus as always when his unit left for a mission. Unfortunately this made it harder for the Firstborn to spot white hair. He looked around, but could only find the families and partners from his squad members.  
There were also a few admirers, but he ignored them purposefully. And just as he wanted to turn and mount his steed, he spotted three familiar faces.

"We will leave in a few moments.", Death exclaimed and then went directly towards the three figures.

War was literally dragged by Strife and Fury. It seemed they had to use a lot of convincing to get the younger Nephilm here.  
Death briefly greeted the twins and then knelt down to be somewhat on eye level with War. He hadn't much time left and decided to make it short and sweet.  
"Little one..."

His young brother turned slightly away and continued looking to the ground. The older one exhaled heavily.

"Look at me." He reached out and put both of his hands on each side of War. But he still wouldn't look. "War, do it for me."

The younger one finally looked up and Death was surprised to see tears. He hadn't seen him crying for a while now. The shining droplets silently poured out of intense blue glowing eyes. It was apparent that War was trying his very best not to throw a huge tantrum. "Please don't go.", he sobbed quietly.

The older brother ignored the sobbing and tried to hold back the strange urge to hug him. Instead he let his hands wander to the small head and wiped the tears with his thumbs away. It was not an easy task, as new ones kept coming.  
 _Seems someone honestly likes me._

"Listen, War." Death took a glance to the twins. "Be a good boy and don't cause your brother and sister too much trouble."

The small figure nodded.

"If there is danger ahead, do as they say. Respect your elder and speak up your mind if something seems strange. And one last thing." Death looked away for a short moment to reconsider his next words, which he still couldn't believe came to his mind. "I'll try to be back on your birthday."

The young War looked surprised and confused at the same time. The stream of tears slowly died away and Death could hear a stammered "A-Alright."

Satisfied with the reaction the Firstborn stood up and gave the youngling a short pat on the head. Then he looked at Strife and Fury. "Take care of him. I'll be back soon."

"Just leave already." The male twin said earning a slap from his sister.

Death lacking the motivation to put Strife into his place just gave him a warning glare. He then took a last glance at War and turned away.

The squad rode and left a cloud of dust behind.

...

War was sitting at the window with his arms lazily supporting his head on the ledge. The youth house he was in harbored several individuals. 'Learning how to live with others'. When he grew older he would be here, too. But War didn't understand. Wasn't he living with someone already, for example Death?  
War turned around. The other youths were not present, except for Strife and Fury. The sun was soon about to set and the place would be crowded, when darkness rose.

The youngling looked at the twins and still couldn't comprehend that they didn't really looked like twins as described in his books. The only things they had in common were their yellow eyes and their matching scarf. In fact they always wore the same type and color.

Today was War's birthday and he felt slightly miserable. Strife and Fury actually wanted to get him something or do something with him, but he declined and wanted to spent the day at home. Maybe he would get a surprise visit...

The twins probably understood his intentions and decided to wait with him the whole day. Fury was being a role model and did her, or rather _their_ homework, while her twin was reading one of War's favorite adventure books. Strife most likely read this for his amusement, because the youngling heard occasional laughter. But it sounded more like a degrading tone.

War found that quite offensive. The hero in the book was not someone to make fun of. He was always honorable and made sure to protect the ones he held dear. Just like Death. The small Nephilim knew that the hero in the book was not real, but his brother did the job pretty well. As his hero, that is. ...and without the honor part.

The youngling knew that his older brother was very busy and did a _lot_ of things. He was a Firstborn, a crafter, an instructor and one of the higher ranked commanders. In Death's absence over the year he'd seen just how much his brother did to run the society together with the other Firstborn. How did he found the time to take care of War? Somehow the young Nephilim felt a little bad for being so stubborn before Death's leave. He hoped his older brother wasn't mad at him during his departure. War may not have gotten a hug, but he did said he would be back on his birthday, right?

The child looked out of the window again. He may be young but he certainly saw how Death tried to be a good older brother. War would always get a bedtime story even if the Firstborn was obviously tired.  
Other kids said they were scared of his older brother. War didn't understand them. Yes, Death is rough and rarely smiles, but that didn't make him scary. His voice said it all. It was always soft. Well as soft as a rasping voice could get. Did Death acted differently towards others?

War would have probably thought even more about his brother, when something caught his eye.

He suddenly sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. Did he just imagined it? He looked closer out of the window. The house was standing slightly higher than the others and the way to the main entrance was completely visible from his position. There was a large figure moving slowly toward them! War recognized the way it was walking! He laughed happily and ran outside.

"War, where are you going?", Strife called but didn't get an answer. He looked at Fury with his face clearly reading confusion.

"Let's go after him before he runs into trouble.", she suggested and both followed the younger Nephilim out. After all, if something may happen to War during their watch, they could be sure to have two scythes in their throats.

War leaned with his hands on a short wall, which surrounded the house and could be considered as a fence. He narrowed his eyes again. There were scythes on either side of the tall frame.  
This couldn't be? But it had to!

"Death!", War called and started running. The stranger hid a tiny smile under his hood and knelt to catch the youngling.

"Brother!", War tackled the older one and surprised him with the heavy impact, causing the hood to fall off. He hugged tightly.

 _War got slightly stronger._

"I wasn't expecting such a welcome.", he said softly and stroked War's head, noticing the small increase in height.

"You have no idea how much he missed you." a female voice suddenly said.

Death turned to Fury. So the twins took good care of his youngling. 'His' youngling.

"He cried the first couple of weeks. None stop." Strife bend down to War and added "You little sissy, you."

"Shut up, meanie!"

Death ignored their little bickering, but noticed that their relationship seemed to have grown. He looked to the more reasonable twin. "Something else I should know about?"

Fury smiled. "Well, War can throw down any other child in his age. But he still has no chance against me."

War heard that and grabbed the fabric of Death's cloak. "But I'm getting better!"

"I believe that." rasped the deep voice of his older brother and the small Nephilim earned a pat on his head.

They stood there for a short while longer catching up on important events that happened in his absence. Slowly feeling tired Death ended the conversation.

"Let's go home, War.", Death mumbled.

"Carry me, please." The child was happily jumping around.

Ignoring the request he turned a last time to the twins. "You have my gratitude to have taken care of War."

"Anytime."

"That rascal can come whenever he wants."

Death nodded and turned to leave.

"Carry me, carry me, carry me!", War said over and over again the whole time. The Firstborn finally relented and picked him up.  
 _Well, someone really missed me._

So they walked home, or rather, Death walked home carrying War in one arm. "You do realize you are slowly getting to old for that?"

"No, I don't." said the young voice innocently and buried his face into his raven hair.  
 _Feigning ignorance._

The sun set on their way and Death walked the last few paces in twilight.

When he closed the door to their home he sat War down to remove his cloak. The youngling pressed himself against his leg and said "I missed you so much, brother!"

"Really? I couldn't tell from all your hugging."

"That's why I'm telling you now.", said the child and beamed at him.

Death just looked down and was suddenly reminded that some children seemed to have a hard grasp on irony. Unfortunately, War was one of them.

The Firstborn went to his small library, which also served as a living room, and sat down. War followed suit. "I really really missed you.", the young Nephilim said again and climbed onto his lap.  
 _So eager to catch up with me._

"You know what, Death? Today is my birthday and you came just like you said! You being here is the best birthday present ever!"

Death felt a smile tugging on his lips, but tried to suppress it. "Then I suppose you don't want to see what I've got you."

"You got me something?", War said surprised. His face lit up even more and innocent delight radiated from his eyes.

Now Death couldn't hold himself and his lips curved slightly up. "Yes, I did." He slowly reached out to the bag he dropped earlier and suddenly felt a wave of fatigue swamp over him. The ride back from the battle camp to War was more tiring than expected.

The Firstborn found the small leather pouch and gave it to War.  
The youngling eagerly opened the small bag and pulled something out. It was red fabric. War tilted his head. "A scarf?"

"You can wear this cloth however you want. I weaved in some of my magic. This way I'm still with you even if I'm physically away. I don't want to see you cry again, just because I'm leaving for a short while.", Death explained and leaned back, willing himself to stay awake for War.

"A year is not short! And I wasn't crying!", the child in his lap protested.

"Oh excuse me, you were absolutely not crying and the waterfalls you poured on my departure happened on accident."

"Yes!", War replied, happy that his brother understood him. The child didn't notice how Death shook his head, but he did notice that the fabric had somehow gotten smaller.

After seeing War's questioning glance Death stated further, "It will grow with you, but I suppose you will get rid of it when you are older." His younger brother vehemently shook his head at the last sentence. "The enchantment I weaved in will benefit you. It will protect you in a certain way."

The youngling tilted his head in confusion, "How?"

"The effect will be triggered in special situations, which you should be able to avoid if you are strong enough."

War wanted to ask more, but he probably sensed his brother's unwillingness to explain more, so he wrapped the cloth around his neck and shoulder. The fabric weaved with magic radiated warmth and it somehow had adopted Death's scent.

The younger brother buried his face into the cloth inhaling deeply and then looked up. "Thank you, brother!", War exclaimed happily. He reached out with his small hands and the Firstborn tiredly leaned in, earning an innocent kiss on the cheek.

Death suddenly felt himself, despite his weariness, fully smile at that. Then he heard an "I love you!" and was hugged tightly. This time he didn't hold back and put his arms around the small frame.

 _I am getting soft._

Coming back in time for War was quite stressful and Absalom will most probably be furious, but seeing the young Nephilim so happy was worth all the trouble.

…

 _'I'm off ahead. Don't send for me, you lot can do the clearing without me. - Death'_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Absalom looked around as if Death could still be found on the burned battle ground. "Damn that bastard! Always doing what he wants!" his angry jarring voice shouted through the camp.


	2. Phantoms and Scars

"Death, would you please stop b*tching around and let me treat your wound?"

He was definitely _not_ letting his annoyance show in that particular way War had just described. Where did he even got this wording?  
"I'm not! And you are doing it wrong."

"Well, I'm sorry, I'm only as good as my teacher was."

Death ignored the jab targeted at him and just shut up to let War do his _acceptable_ work.  
 _No point in bickering now._  
They had work left to do by catching up with a few remaining creatures as ordered by the Council.

His rather large wound on his right eye was nothing. Really. Only basic healing abilities were needed, which War fortunately possessed. It wasn't even worth mentioning! He had just been very stupid and very inattentive for a very short moment. Not something he'd do usually, but he was also just a normal being in Creation. As normal as it could get.  
They were hunting down beasts, which were notorious for their leashing and threshing whip like extensions. They caused deep flesh wounds leading to death from either blood loss or infection. Luckily the Pale Rider didn't have much blood left anyway, but an open wound was still annoying. If treated properly a normal living being needed a few years to recover from that. For Death and his near invulnerability it would take several days. The healing could be sped up, by continuously healing and cutting the wound open in a certain way, which War was doing precisely at that moment.

Death observed War as he was busy treating his wound. At least his youngest brother was worth something.  
Well, he was actually worth a lot, but the elder couldn't tell him that now, right?  
To think his old self would have wanted to kill a very young War right on the spot was... not pleasant and something he'd rather want to forget. At times Death wondered what would have happened if he had just killed the newborn with white hair back then. He probably had never started questioning himself, his actions or his thoughts. The Nephilim might had taken Eden. They surely would have dominated Angels and Demons. Maybe even the Council... but War wouldn't be there with him.

One might think that the Red Rider was special to the oldest Horseman. And indeed he was. Maybe because of the way how the younger Nephilim changed Death's demeanor drastically during childhood. War always managed to induce feelings in him he never thought possible to possess. He changed -probably for the good- because of his younger brother.  
Did he love him? Of course he did, War was his younger brother. But there was a deeper connection. Deeper than any brotherhood, deeper than lovers could ever be, maybe even deeper than parent and child. At times it was an understanding of each other without exchanging words or glances at all. Needless to say, there were also times where they could rip each others heads off, because of some minor or major dispute. But they would always resolve them one way or another.  
In all of Creation War was probably the only one he couldn't stay mad at. At least not for long.

"You never told me where you got this scar." War lightly tapped Death's vertical scar reaching from his brow bone to his cheek. It was residing just beside the current wound.

"Not important."

The younger Horseman was about to say something, but shut up when he saw his brother getting his distant _thinking_ look.  
War's statement caused Death to start zoning out involuntarily. The other Nephilim didn't say anything more and resumed his task at nursing his brother.

...

"I'm not taking care of that _thing_!" The Firstborn Death exclaimed angrily, obviously trying to stay calm, but the length of this argument was starting to get on his nerves. "It's even smaller than the natural born Nephilim!"

"Death, the high priestess sees a potent warrior, probably one of the strongest our race might have ever seen."

"I don't care what she says! This thing doesn't even have any sensible wrath level, no energy flow and, worst of all, looks like an angel with disfigured demon wings."

"You've seen it yourself, this infant is not accepting anyone but you! It will die either from starvation or sleep deprivation. And if our priestess is right, _your_ unwillingness will be responsible for killing one of our strongest."  
Absalom's stubborn need for discussion until he got his will was truly annoying.

"What if she's wrong?"

"What if she is not?", the leader just asked back.

The shorter raven haired Nephilim finally rolled with his eyes, far too irritated by now and about to loose his patience.

"Death."

"Absalom."

Both of them knew one of them had to give in soon or the house they where currently in would suffer great damage.

"He needs you."

"I don't care if this thing needs me! It's obviously a failure, why can't you see it?"

"Don't make me order you."

The smaller Nephilim looked away and a short silence fell between them.

Then the stillness was broken by a light crying which got louder every second. A head caretaker from one of the nurseries knocked on Absalom's door and entered. He had a small bundle in his arms, which was crying heartbreakingly.  
"I'm very sorry, but Death, please, try to calm him again. It really seems that you are his only person of choice."

How in Abyss' name did that caretaker even knew he was here? He was offering the child, but Death was demonstratively looking in another direction without any attempts in taking the infant.  
Meanwhile the small youngling with white hair was trying his best to get Death's attention by crying even more. It also reached out with his tiny hands.

Absalom sighed at that and sat down in one of the chairs. He looked tired at Death. "Just do it already, will you?"

The raven haired male looked to the ground and was obviously contemplating. After a short while he slowly took the infant in one hand, because it was starting to deafen his ears with his relentless crying, _not_ because his superior asked. He observed it, feeling a wave of disgust wash over him. As if someone had presented a bouquet of flowers to him intending to please him, but triggering the complete opposite effect. The Firstborn hated flowers as well as failures.

Death absently noted how the newborn looked different from last time. "Your wings are already clipped."  
The child in his hand calmed down very fast and was curiously looking at him out of puffy eyes. What if Death would relent? It wouldn't be the first time for him to take care of a youngling. In fact, all of his youngsters turned out just fine, but they all were already promising in their sole appearance, especially his twins Strife and Fury. But this... this fleshbag, which was currently just radiating cuteness and joy, was something completely inconspicuous. Well, the only thing that was differentiating it from the others were it's looks.

The awfully angelic Nephilim child was so... unimposing. Death didn't have the ability to see a glimpse of the future or enough knowledge about temporal magic to sense someone's destiny. But he just couldn't believe what they said about the infant. There was not the slightest trace of evidence for an auspicious future.  
Promising children displayed promising characteristics. Inconspicuous children with no special attributes stay inconspicuous.  
This child was overthrowing the standard categorization; one thing that was unnerving Death already.  
Now what? Raising the child to see it's bright future or to see a waste of time?  
There was only one way to settle this argument once and for all.

"I'll look after it." Death sad calmly and felt the air lighten up a little. " _If_ the Phantom manages to show me if it's worthy enough. I want to see it with my own eyes."

"That can be certainly arranged."

"Tomorrow evening."

This was far too soon, Death knew it himself. But if the priestess was right, creating the Phantom wouldn't put a great risk on the infant's health.  
"It could be dangerous, we don't have enough people here."

"I'll take care of the rest." The tone in Death's voice convinced Absalom. One of his highest commanding brothers was asking him to let things go his way this time and if that was what it took to make Death take care of the child, then so be it.

"Very well."

Death turned, put the now sleeping child back in the caretakers arms and walked out. But a second message lingered after him. If that infant was not showing any signs of promise for anything, Death would not hesitate to kill it.

The next evening approached fast and all of the currently present adult Nephilim were eager to see, what the newborn with white hair might once become. Creating a Phantom was not the difficult task or the mattering question. It was rather if the child would survive this procedure. A Phantom was nothing else, but a very short manifestation of a glimpse in the future of a Nephilim child. In the best possible way the infant itself would be unconscious or sleeping during the invocation. Foreseeing the truth of what might become of an individual involved high amounts of energy, for the individual that is.

Said child was nothing more than a fresh newborn. With no energy reading what so ever. How should it be able to survive? Well, for Death the answer was clear, as the infant was obviously a failure in his eyes. For some others and the priestess the answer was also clear. A promising child such as that one would easily survive the call of it's Phantom.

They chanted, they called and a gruesome creature arrived.

The Phantom was tall and strong, easily reaching Absalom's height and width. It's leathery wings were stretched out and apparently fully functional. Demonic fire engulfed it's body like a second skin and letting it glow in an violent volcanic red. The long thin tail was idly and lazily waving around, as if it came to chat about the currently very moody weather.  
But the most notable characteristic was it's energy. Radiating powerful waves sensible in every corner, electrifying the air and inducing a deep horrible feeling inside one's mind. The intention of this Phantom was clear. It wanted to _fight_ ...and _kill_.  
Clearly, this child would survive. Now the question was, would the audience?  
Luckily the Phantom at that current time only had eyes for one being in Creation.

The fiery creature was suddenly standing before Death. In a blink of an eye it had moved itself from one spot to another. Even Death had to admit to himself, that he didn't quite see it coming; too confident and too arrogant that the child was nothing but a failure.  
And in that instant, just before the Phantom sliced across Death's right eye and Death being a split of a second to slow to dodge, in that very instant they locked eyes and the Firstborn knew, he was the only one capable of handling the youngling and his immense power. It was his responsibility towards his brethren. It was the silent demand of the creature.

After this briefest of moment everything seemed to happen all at once.  
Death's wound on his eye starting to burn scarring his face forever, Harvester appearing knocking the tall beast down with the handle and Harvester again suddenly in it's dual form holding the Phantom down.  
The alternate form of the child with white hair threshed and clawed around him, but Death's grip was firm despite the beast being at least four heads taller. The fiery wings fluttered effortlessly and the creature screamed a last feral cry before it suddenly dissipated into nothingness.

The name of the child would be later announced. It would be _War_.

Now it wasn't really necessary anymore to ask what happened next.  
Death -not going back on his word, even if he wanted to- took tiny War with him, who was slowly waking up. After seemingly recognizing laying in both of Death's hands it cheered happily, confusing the Firstborn at how vivid and lively it appeared. Cheeks red and intense glowing white eyes with a blue tint, but no apparent energy, which would explain the promising future.  
 _A strange child._

"Death your wound..." one of the healers - her name was Poison - said, before he turned to his home.

"It will heal itself." The flames on his eye died down allowing his healing ability to do it's knitting work and the Firstborn, now a caretaker again, was already walking toward his house.  
The small infant in his hands was now happily squeaking away, not realizing - and never will realize - to be the cause of his holder's wound.

Back in his home Death made a makeshift crib out of the materials laying around in his workshop and placed it beside his own bed, all the while looking out that the child wouldn't do anything stupid. There was actually no need to be cautious, as the kid wasn't able to crawl yet. He just sat there looking very curious at what his older brother was doing without much but making incomprehensible noises.  
 _Trying to talk._  
At least that brat was actually bearable for the moment.

"Sleep in here. You'll get a real crib tomorrow." Death said covering the tiny bundle of flesh with a blanket.

The Firstborn was about to shut the light off, when the infant suddenly babbled more than necessary.  
"Are you trying to tell me something?" Death asked mockingly. "You may be able to say words, but you have no idea what they mean."

"De-! Da-! Da-!"

"What's that? You want to say my name?"

"Da-! Deh-!"

"It's Death."

"Deaf."

 _What the- ?_  
"No, Death."

"Deaf!"

"Death!"

"Deaf!"

 _Already a pain in the..._

...

"Death?"

"Hm?" The Pale Rider felt himself suddenly dragged out of his memories.

War finished the last iteration of cutting and healing. "I'm done."

The wound on Death's right eye closed without leaving a scratch, but the vertical scar the other inquired earlier stayed. The younger Rider unconsciously traced it with his thumb. It was a scar probably from the past, but War, after so many centuries, still didn't know where it came from. He would always ask, but his eldest brother would always deny him any answer.

Death gently turned away and mumbled a quite "Thanks." He then stood up to put his mask -which was still slightly cracked despite his repair- back on, still feeling the ghost of War's thumb on his old scar.  
There was time for sentimentality later and a mission was still waiting to be finished.  
The eldest rider walked out of the cave and the youngest followed suit. Death knew War wanted to know where his scar was coming from. He could still sense the question in the air and in War's look. But Death won't tell. Telling War meant telling him how his oldest brother doubted him, even if only in the beginning. That was knowledge he wanted to spare War from ever receiving.

They approached Ruin and Despair, who where grazing and pacing near the cave. Despair looked at his master with mischief in his eyes and let out a quite spectral noise, which suspiciously sounded like snickering. He was probably still amused at how Death got injured.

"Just shut up, will you?", said the named Rider to his horse before mounting it.  
They rode out to catch up with their mission's targets.

Death looked briefly back to see if his brother was still with him. He was.  
The Pale Rider recognized the fiery creature. The Phantom was literally just a phantom of what War was now. It couldn't even compare to his current true strength.  
 _I was so wrong._


	3. Black and White

"War, where are you? Your sword training is about to start.", Death's deep rasping voice traveled through the small home. He walked through the kitchen to the living room and into the small corridor past the youngling's room. Then he stopped and took a few steps back.  
"There you are." his voice got a little softer.

Death walked in and tilted his head slightly in confusion. The child was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a mirror. One hand lazily supporting his head, while the other played with his hair, obviously examining his appearance. The Firstborn was sure that War was still a little too young to worry about his looks.

"I want to dye my hair black." War's voice was clear and pure like wind chimes.

 _Hair dying?_

The small Nephilim was also too young for this rebellious phase of his life. What in the nine hells happened? Death raised an eyebrow and just asked flatly, "Why?"  
"Why? My hair is white, that's why! It makes me a freak!"  
 _Ah. That again._

Death has been wondering when the other children would start picking on War, because of his unusual appearance.  
In the beginning Nephilim were born from angels and demons, but incidentally looked just a little more like the darker creatures. And War just happen to look far more angelic than the others. There was his white hair, which he shared with a few other Nephilim. But then there were other traits that set him apart from the rest of them. His nearly white eyes glowing in a light blue hue paired with his tanned skin let him appear as an heavenly being.  
All this and few other things made War unique among the Nephilim society and the youngling seemed to have more problems coping with this uniqueness than anticipated.

Having a demeanor to not give a damn about others or their opinions was a thing Death was born with. But it seemed that young Nephilim, especially ones who develop the natural way, have problems grasping that concept.

Death closed the gap between them with a few strides of his long legs and sat down beside the small Nephilim. "War, we talked about this before, haven't we?"  
War's lips turned into a light pout and his voice turned a little higher. "I know..."  
"There are a few other Nephilim, who have white hair. Even Absalom has it."  
"But why is my hair white? Why is it not black like yours or at least somewhat dark like anyone else's?"  
"War, if the color of your hair is more important to you than your training, I'm going to shave it off completely."

The child just turned away frowning and looked critically into the mirror again.  
Silence fell between them and Death observed War after the strange reaction. Usually he would have had something to say back after a mildly threatening statement from his older brother.  
Patience was probably the key right now. Death had dealt with a lot of such things. His other younglings, now obviously adults, used to have similar problems. Through experience the Firstborn knew listening to the youngling's problems was usually the quickest and less stressful approach, if the other was willing to share. It wasn't something he was fond of doing, but an upset mind was a distracted mind and that meant losing focus during training.

Time passed with nothing happening at all and War only sighing now and then. The youngling was obviously ignoring him. Did the Firstborn said something wrong? Or was this one of those moments, where he should ask what was going on in his mind?

Death suddenly realized something and started to feel a nearly nauseous sensation in his innards. This was probably turning to be one of the awkward discussions he always tried to avoid as much as possible. A conversation with empathy and compassion and so on.  
Truth be told, they may be close, but the Firstborn would always detest such moments, where his conversation skills on an emotional level were asked. These were things that were _not_ distinctively developed.

Most of the time he didn't know what to say or do, so he usually would sit with them and try different sentences he heard while observing others. Showing empathy was one of the many things he was _not_ skilled in. Right now, in situations like these, he sometimes wished he had -somewhere along the line of his already long life- learned that particular ability.  
But he could at least try, for War's sake.

Before he could come up with some sentence, which wouldn't show his rudimentary skills, War took the matter out of his hand. He turned around and asked in an innocent voice. "Brother?"  
"Mh?"  
"Am I even Nephilim?"

That question was unexpected.  
"Of course you are." _What kind of question is that?_  
War looked at him and then crawled between his legs with white hair flowing over his shoulders. Death absently noticed with himself sitting and War now standing there was a slight difference in height. The Firstborn had to look slightly up.

"Why are my eyes glowing blue then? Why is my skin different? Why am I still so much weaker than the others? What happens to weak Nephilim? Are they being killed? Would that apply to me? Will you leave me, when I stay this weak? Would you ki-"

 _What?_  
"War, wait." Death put both of his hands on the small slender shoulders of the child and pulled him back down. War was now looking bashfully away as if just said something bad. "Where does all this come from?"  
"Nowhere."

The Firstborn may not be good in conversing on an emotional level or even understanding certain emotions. But he had enough people skill to know, that _something_ was wrong. This contradictory behavior War was showing, clearly indicated how he was trying to hide how upset he really was.  
Death just had to calm him down and take care of the questions one by one.

"Little one, we talked about a few things of that, too."

War still looked away and just nodded, but now sat cross legged in front of his brother.

"You are still a child and in your growth state. Most of the Nephilim in your age tend to be less strong than the older ones. Remind yourself, you have talent but your body hasn't developed yet."

Then Death noticed how War's eyes were glowing more intensely than usual. Over time he came to acknowledge and learn, that this was a cue for the child having an intense emotional state.  
He paused for a blink of an eye to gather his thoughts to answer the more delicate questions, when again, War interrupted him.

"But nothing changed in the last years! They all got stronger while I stood behind!", War's voice was more upset than the older brother ever heard. "I'm still small and still weak even with more training than any of them!"  
True, the Firstborn saw in the past years how the youngling was indeed struggling to keep up with the other children in his age regarding physical abilities. War could outwit them with quick thinking and his fast movements due to his small stature, but he was slowly lacking behind and with time the gap only seemed to grow.

However, that was no reason for War to slack of by brooding. Death was about to intervene something, but the next words from War surprised even him.  
"I don't want you to leave me, Death."

The older brother was for a short moment at a loss for words. When did this conversation turned from his youngling wanting to dye his hair into War being afraid of Death leaving him? Taking a closer look at War's face, he saw little tears starting to form. He still remembered the image of little War crying endless tears when he had to leave for a longer time.  
Not wanting to repeat that situation Death inhaled.

"War, I'm not going to leave you." Death's voice was calm and steady, calling his younger brother for attention with his serious tone and easing his upset mind. The older brother had told the younger one _many_ times already, that he was not intending to leave him. This topic would often raise up, if Death left for a longer mission. But he won't leave him, not until the child grew into an adult and could stand on his own feet.  
The child responded with an insecure and worried look. It seemed he was a little ashamed of bringing up this subject again just now, seeing as the older brother's answer stayed unchanged.

The topic was obviously finished for Death. War got his confirmation, that his brother would stay. And yet the child seemed to hide something even bigger than his voiced worries. Something that would lead him to believe that his older brother would surely leave. Should the Firstborn pry? He'd rather not...  
There were still a few questions unanswered so Death decided to tackle _them_ , when yet again, War took matter out of his hands.

"What if I stay weak?"  
The scar on Death's right eye tingled slightly. It probably remembered how War's Phantom had caused it by clawing over his face. It was impossible for the child to stay weak. But it was of the essence that Death won't intervene in his future, even if it was just telling him what might be. Besides his young brother seemed to have ridiculous ideas about what might happen if a Nephilim happened to be weaker than others.  
Well, the old Death wouldn't have thought these ideas as ridiculous as the Death right now.

The child kept talking, his voice strained from trying very hard to remain calm. "They say weak does not deserve to live. I don't deserve someone as strong as you, brother. They sometimes even say I should have been killed when born..."  
Death's left eye twitched. It was just a split second, but the youngling saw it nonetheless.  
The Firstborn felt something hot and protective rising inside of him like a sudden violent volcanic eruption. Just like the cloud of dust from an explosion blocking the sunlight his anger was clouding his mind and he actually had to concentrate hard _not_ to let it show, demanding, which individuals dared pestering his brother.

Instead he canned the anger -one directed at the youngling's source of misery and the other directed at himself- for a later occasion, which would soon follow. Also Death ignored the slight feeling of guilt, after suddenly being reminded how he wanted to kill a newborn War, and concentrated at the matter at hand.

It was an uneasy subject for Death. The _whole_ situation was not easy for him! A subject he'd rather not face, seeing as how close their relationship had become. And he was _not_ keen on letting the child know how persistent and zealous the Firstborn used to be in intending to kill a newborn War.  
 _Where to begin?_

"War, let's clear this once and for all, I won't leave you and you won't be killed because you are weak. Not as long as I live."  
The child looked to the floor and just nodded. Long white hair obscured the young face and Death suppressed the urge to move the curtain of white away. Instead he looked to the side concentrating in formulating thoughts that would at least ease War's mind.

"Sometimes there is more than just the black and white partition, War." The youngling looked up at him in confusion. "Sometimes things aren't as easy as a simple two way categorization in weak and strong." Where was Death going with this? Honestly he didn't know himself.  
"There are a lot of shades in between. You seem weak now, but you don't know what will come. The only way to know is do your very best." What kind of hypocrite was the Firstborn? He wasn't any better than the others. A few decades ago he wouldn't have hesitated to kill his newborn brother because of his inconspicuous and weak appearance, strongly believing that caring for the child would be a waste of time.  
Now he was sitting here telling him how wrong the others were, who were currently thinking just the way he himself used to. True, War changed his attitude regarding that in a very short time, but _never_ should he know, how his brother reacted on his birth.

"Don't overthink all those scenarios that could be. Focus on your goal to become strong. If you let yourself get sidetracked you'll never reach what you want."  
One could tell, it was difficult for the youngling to understand. Everything was so hard and unfair for him right now, reaching his goal seemed completely out of reach for the small Nephilim.  
But Death, knowing that children lack the ability to see the bigger picture and knowing that standard wordings usually won't work that well, tried yet another approach. A little alteration of how he himself goes through life. "Listen, War." he reached out and put a hand on the slender shoulder. "I can only imagine that it must be difficult for you. But know this. You are the only one responsible for your own live. There is no one, who should decide what should have, is or will happen to you.  
"You are responsible for yourself and thus decide yourself how to feel and react over anything that is happening around you."

That seemed to have worked. It was simple logic, something that anyone could understand even children. If War didn't want to be sad, then he shouldn't be sad about what others said. Maybe it would help him seeing the bigger picture one day. Whatever he does now will effect his future self in some way. Keeping a strong will and a strong body, will only benefit him.

"It's hard..." It was hard, yes. War had to cope with many things all at once. Sadness, Anger, Fear, Acceptance, Patience, Insight, ... His mind was battling to give in to his upset state and throw everything away he had worked so hard for.  
"It's always more difficult to decide for yourself."  
The youngling sighed heavily as if a large weight was sitting on his shoulders and in his current situation and age it just might be a heavy burden. But non the less War nodded. He'd be damned if he won't take his brother's advice to heart.  
"Only you." And to emphasize Death put a long bony finger on War's chest. "Not me, not others. Only you yourself."

War was innocent and still oblivious to the world. It wasn't his fault to start off weaker than the others. It wasn't his fault that he looked angelic. And it wasn't his fault that the others picked on him.  
But it was Death's fault alone to not be able to give the younger one better advice and it was his fault to not be able to tell War about all the circumstances around his birth.

After a while Death saw the look of determination slowly creeping in the young face again, which, to the Firstborn's content, appeared quite often over the past few years.  
And before they would end their conversation, the older brother repeated one last thing again. "I'll stay with you as long as you need me."  
There was a short moment, when the young face of resolution slightly cracked with doubt, but Death was quick to fix that. "If you have need of me for all our lifetimes, then so be it."  
War's eyes slowly lit up and a light shade of pink appeared on his cheeks.

Seeing War's reaction made Death suddenly very aware of how he himself managed to round up an awkward conversation without being awkward at all. The current moment between them was sweet and innocent, just like young War. It made Death's viscera felt... weird and almost sick.  
"Now go to your training! Wrath is probably waiting for you and you are already past time!" The older brother slowly stood up and managed to sound annoyed enough to shake off the odd feeling inside of him but not enough to disturb War.  
Without words the youngling smiled, gave him a quick peck on his cheek before the Firstborn could fully rise and then ran toward the training grounds.

The remaining adult Nephilim ran his fingers through his unkempt hair once.  
It wasn't War who didn't deserve to be with him. It was Death not deserving someone as trusting and innocent as War.  
If the youngling would know about Death's demeanor before he was old enough to actually comprehend what was going on War would probably be crestfallen. Maybe even loosing the trust in his older brother.  
The incredible trust War was putting into him. He told the Firstborn all of his troubles and always considered his advices earnestly. The Firstborn knew very well, that he actually didn't deserve that trust, but that didn't mean he won't try to keep it as long as possible.

...

Death sat for a long time in his crafting workshop while trying hard to concentrate on his work. After more contemplating he got up to just take a tiny glimpse of how War's training was doing despite his better judgment to _not_ do that. He was just being curious and wanted to check if everything was alright, he told himself. It had absolutely nothing to do with him being an overprotective mother hen. And then he spotted the source of War's misery by chance.  
A small group of children and a few youths approached and started circling his brother in. The Firstborn should have known. The notorious trouble makers, also known as Pride's saplings, were pestering his youngling.

They pushed him around, threw him into the dirt and made various useless comments considering his angelic appearance, his stature and abilities. Thanks to Death's sensitive hearing, he could make out just why War was so afraid of him leaving.  
That the name War was really unfitting and how someone like him actually managed to survive until now, because apparently he shouldn't be able. It was just luck that authorities hadn't relieved Death from the heavy burden that was the youngling.  
How him, Death, would be better off being the Caretaker of one of them instead of War.  
 _Insolent brats._  
Death had heard and seen enough. He went back home and didn't even care for their names. He had seen their faces already.

...

When War came back, he seemed excited. The youngling went on and on about how awesome the new combo was, that Wrath had showed at the end of their training session. How everything today was very exhaustive, but also very fun.  
It seemed War had calmed down. Battling, even if it's just training, might have a cheering effect on him. Death had to observe this fact, he noted in a corner of his mind.

At night War fell asleep quite fast despite the fact that he was so upset in the afternoon. Also Death let him sleep in the same bed _again_ ; maybe because the child had wrapped him around a little finger yet _again_ or just simply to relieve his own feeling of slight guilt still lingering from the earlier conversation. But never the less it was indeed strange for the Firstborn to see how War seemed to have a steady and calm sleep whenever he was allowed to stay in the older brother's bed.  
The Firstborn idly wondered, as always, if the child would ever be able to sleep alone.

As War slumbered peacefully, his older brother was still awake a little longer than usual -which was very late already-, thinking about various more things.

...

A couple of days later a few younglings and youthlings seemed to have gone missing. Death just shrugged at the news. A cold reaction from him to which everyone was already accustomed. There were always young Nephilim foolish enough to wander off to the dangerous outskirts or loosing their way on a foraging mission.  
Incidentally these were exactly the children, who were picking on War.  
 _What an unfortunate event._

 _..._

 _..._

 _..._

 _Author's Note:  
Thank you everyone for your nice comments! It really keeps me motivated! I really didn't expected anyone to like my little musings._


	4. Society and Birth

In the beginning it was a pleasant surprise to experience reproduction through the biological mechanism. Not for Death, but most of his kin seemed happy enough about it.  
Gone were the days where Nephilim had to be created by mixing parts of Angels, Demons and little bits of Absalom himself. There was the possibility to selectively breed powerful Nephilim.  
There were, however, a few drawbacks with having younglings around. One of them was how slowly they developed. They may outgrow their infancy stage quite fast, crawling for a very short time before they started walking and talking. But the amount of time until they grew into an adult was ridiculously large. In this time Death could have created an entire army of Nephilim by himself! Well, maybe half an army but still.

Society changed with the existence of Nephilim younglings around and the establishment of caretakers was of utmost importance than it was already. But it was not like there weren't any caretakers existent. In the past they used to create fellow Nephilim manually. The resulting newborns where in an adult body and could actually be sent out to fight. They were somewhat intelligent and social enough to talk to. But the convention regarded that the newborns would spent some time with the elder, which were suited to be caretakers. This way it could be ensured, that they wouldn't lack in intelligence and -more importantly- combat abilities.

Death, in contrast to his name, was one of the favored ones to take care of new life. He was a dutiful caretaker and a demanding teacher, which made him more than capable of raising young or freshly born Nephilim. His lack of ability to show any kind of affection, turned his protégés to cold fearsome warriors just like himself.

Though, being very well suited to do something and actually wanting to do it were two very different things. But Death felt to some extend responsible for the community and relented nonetheless. Especially after a long rant from Absalom about how all of them should do their part to contribute and help the society to rise and finally be able to establish a place in Creation.  
This speech dragged on and on until Death just agreed in favor of never hearing that patriotic nonsense again.

They were a close community indeed, even Death couldn't deny it. To others the Nephilim appeared to be a barbaric and ravaging race. Truth be told, whenever they claimed a realm for themselves or tried to rob other creations from their technology, they were indeed fearful and terror inducing conquerors!  
But among themselves they would act differently. Treating each other with respect and caring for the ones in need was a daily routine and as natural as the rising of the sun. And being the close community they are, they cared and provided for the newborn from biological creation, too. It was a serious topic as there were no parents to take care of them, like most of Creation had.

It should be known, that in the Nephilim race bonding and breeding were two completely different things.  
Bonding was for a lifetime. Sharing a bond meant commitment, love, respect and trust. It was unique and absolute. Once a bonded has passed, the other won't be able to share another connection. The pain over the loss would become nearly unbearable, scarring the remaining bonded one forever.  
One would think there weren't a lot of bonds shared in the Nephilim race as it could result in too many lone and solitary individuals. But the opposite was the actual case.  
The remaining lost Nephilim from a bond were more determined to help in the community, especially the pairs who are still connected. No one wished for another to experience the same tragedy and none would leave a lost one behind to their misery.

But for Death bonding was never a thing. Not many did understood his decision. There were always people trying to advance on him, but he shot them all down, male or female, without even a second glance.  
He tried his very best to appear obnoxious and repellent, so none would bother him more than necessary. And still there were people attempting to flirt with him or to seduce him. All of them exceptional in their field of expertise and outstanding warriors. They were excellent matches, every single one. But the Firstborn couldn't care less.  
From Death's point of view bonding caused only trouble. He could foresee useless attachments, confusing emotions and unnecessary drama, which were the last things he wanted. Also he saw himself not fashioned for relationships at all. He always did what he wanted and never listened to others. If anyone tried to bond him he'd just run away. Not literally, it was just a figure of speech.

After biological birth was found, natural breeding became a topic. Breeding itself was done to contribute to the Nephilim race. Two individuals -in contrast to bonding there had to be one male and one female- would be chosen depending on their skill level in either magic or strength, to create new live. It was actually considered an honor to be selected as a Breeder.  
Of course it was also possible for bonded people to bear children out of _love_ \- Death would always scoff at that term. If the child was born it could be raised by its own biological parents or could be handed over to one of the many nurseries. But if it showed promise, the newborn ought to be given to the Board of Elders. There it would be judged and a suitable experienced Caretaker among them would be given the right for the child.

The Board itself could be seen as highest installation in the Nephilim society and consisted mostly of Firstborn Nephilim. There were also a few of the following generations, who earned the right to be there through hard work and countless battles. It was obvious that most of the members were older battle worn warriors, but there were also a few none combat experienced ones.  
They were not scholars in particular, but people with a lot of knowledge, gained while mastering the art of different magics and foraging through old tomes. Then there where others who were experienced in battle strategies rather in combat itself and thus a high asset to the board.  
The tasks of the board reached from sanctioning new laws over deciding which realm to conquer next to organizing the infrastructure. It was a broad spectrum of duties. Arranging the community in regard to choosing promising warriors or potential Breeders were also included.

It was a necessity to find suitable Breeders for reproduction. There was, of course, Absalom himself. But intelligence, quick thinking and swiftness were also important features to take in consideration.  
And, how could it be any different, Death was chosen to be a Breeder, too.  
He declined, of course, as he had his hands full already. Accepting to be a Breeder would mean more annoying younglings, which he had to probably take care of. That was something completely out of question for him.

Engaging in intercourse for breeding or bonding was one thing. Copulating with whoever pleased one's fantasies was, to be frank, just for fun. Death was certainly not someone, who was completely void of any physical desires but he rarely fulfilled them. The urge to lay with someone was simply not strong enough most of the time and, unfortunately, some individuals always wanted more than that. If he really needed to satisfy his bodily hunger, there were places one could go, where the relationship could be kept at a professional level.  
And of course coupling with anyone meant _anyone_. It was amusing to see how other races would be disgusted by their deviant and sometimes incestuous practices. But really there is no difference, they all where descendants of Absalom one way or another. Calling each other brother and sister seemed to be the best approach, as they seemed to be all related somehow.

Younglings were also considered play material, which was downright horrendous to different races but not amongst them. It had always been like that and no one would frown upon. But for Death it was never a real option. They were inexperienced and clumsy and it was just not entertaining enough.  
Nephilim children in the Firstborn's eyes were inconvenient in many ways. They are not able to protect themselves not until proper training, they were annoying and loud, they never listened to superiors and always try to test their boundaries. They needed _a lot_ of caretaking especially in the infant stage and usually stayed with their Caretaker until they have reached at least their youth stage.  
Still, they don't have _only_ negative sides compared to the artificially born Nephilim, Death had to admit. They do take _very_ long to develop, but in the long run they showed a better understanding of society and most of them were also better warriors. The Firstborn could tell by himself, as he raised both kind of newborn.

As much as Death hated to admit, sooner or later natural breeding will replace their whole reproduction cycle, it was foreseeable. The hard work in raising them showed it's fruits in their usefulness. But until then he helped conceiving the conventional way.  
Through Magic!

Their ' _mother_ ' showed him and other magic gifted Nephilim how to create live of their own kin. Not the way she did, but in a similar fashion. In retrospect she was just benefiting herself with that, but Death could live with that or else he would have never met War.  
A few millennia later and Death would be the only one -beside Lilith of course- knowing how to create Nephilim from a given mold... one of the many secrets he had to bear all by himself.

The day he first saw War and the last day he would ever help in creating Nephilim was a usual day for creating life. As usual as it could get. Capturing potent demons and angels alike, then dragging them to their stronghold. Draining angelic and demonic energy, wrath and life force until nothing but dust was left. The process was tiring and lengthy, but worth every minute, as the life essences were needed for strong newborn.

On that day there were complications none had expected. Somehow that newborn needed far more wrath and energy than usually necessary. Was that a sign for a potent warrior? Maybe a magic wielder? Or even another Nephilim with an alternate form like Death and a few others?  
It seemed this one would fit right into their rows of warriors already. But what to do with the demand of more energy? The Invokers and Death himself poured part of their own life essence into the slowly awakening Nephilim.

The Firstborn could remember the feeling very well. The endless bottom, wanting to be filled with wrath and power and a strong demand for the very energy that kept souls going, hungry for more than it could possible handle. If he hadn't been careful the newborn had put a serious toll on him.  
The process was lengthy and time consuming, it could have been mere seconds or long hours.  
Right before Death gave in to channel his own reserves the newborn broke the connection by itself, surprising all of them. But the biggest surprise -or for Death, disappointment- was the result. It wasn't an adult Nephilim standing at his or her feet at full height. No.  
It was just a tiny body on it's back, babbling cute noises.

Death and a few other Invokers, who weren't busy recovering, approached and the Firstborn lifted the small newborn. It was male and cheered happily at him. _How disgusting._  
It couldn't be helped but the newborn's appearance looked awfully angelic at first glance, in contrast to all of them. It had white hair, tanned skin and white shining eyes, but they were tinted in a light shade of blue. Yet the wings on his back showed the demonic side. They looked like leathered demon wings but were unfortunately horribly deformed. One was average sized but twisted in the wrong direction and the other was only visible as a stump. He would never be able to utilize those wings.  
Somehow Death felt a slight nagging feeling that could be interpreted as pity for the newborn, but dismissed it immediately. It's not as if that lump of flesh would stay alive.

He sat it back on the cold floor and absently registered the unnatural heat in the tiny body. Death turned to the others, summoning his weapon Harvester in the form of a spear.  
"What do you intend to do, Death?"  
"Don't pretend you don't understand. You all can feel it, or rather, cannot feel anything, am I right?"  
There was indeed no energy flowing from this infant, no sensible wrath level and it was even smaller than the natural born Nephilim. "So much work for nothing." The Firstborn spat obviously angered and raised the weapon.  
"Wait."  
Harvester's blade was only breaths away from the newborn. Death's piercing orange eyes looked to one of the Invoker, who dared to stop him. "Failures should be taken care of immediately.", he rasped dangerously.  
"We can't be sure. Yes there is no sensible energy flow and he seems far weaker than anything up until now, but we should always see what might be.  
"L-let us bring him to the Highpriests.". There were some Nephilim who had been deemed failures but turned out to be exceptional in their field. A blind one could sense enemies hours in advance. Another one was deaf but gifted with high healing abilities.  
Death banished his weapon. "Do what you want. I'm not taking care of _failure_." Death took a short glance at the small bundle and walked out not showing the fatigue the newborn had caused him.

 _They decided to let it live._

...

 _Why me?_  
Death was silently regretting his own decision to relent to the Board's, Absalom's or all of his other superiors' will and take care of infant War. True he saw his potential as a warrior with his own eyes and he himself was probably the only one able to handle him, but that didn't stop the Firstborn from being annoyed by War's crying. There was a lot of time left until the child would grow into an adult and warrior. A long time Death was currently _not_ eager to experience. Later he would disbelievingly shake his head at how insensible he used to be.

Now the tired adult was slowly crawling to the edge of his bed, where War's crib was located. He slowly sat up and scooped the infant up in one hand. The Firstborn once saw how other Nephilim would put their own biological child on their chest to sooth them. He wasn't very fond of unnecessary touching but still tried said treatment a few days earlier with War and it worked like a charm. The child calmed down in record time and was now squeaking happily away.  
"Yes, yes, shut up already." Death said showing his obvious annoyance. None the less he payed close attention that the bundle of flesh would stay on his chest and secured one arm around it.  
Death may not like much touching but he also didn't like annoyingly crying infants. Preferring silence and not losing his hearing outweighed his discomfort in body contact.

"You are always crying waterfalls until I'm there. They should have named you Tears."  
As Death was patiently waiting for War to fall asleep, he idly wondered if the child would ever be able to sleep alone. He _really_ wanted the child to sleep in it's own room very soon.

The next morning he was supposed to go to one of the main healers to let them check on War's overall health. So he arrived there just in time to get yelled at.

"Where the hell have you been?! You were supposed to be here at noon, damn it! Now my whole schedule is completely out of order, because of you!"  
The healer didn't even glance at him and just snatched War out of his hand.  
"Hello Poison, it's nice to see you, too.", Death replied dryly. Then added, "Just look at it and get your work done."

"For Creator's sake, Death! He is not an _it_ , he's an adorable little baby with adorable cute eyes, right?" The healer said the last sentence in an overly sweet tone to War and nuzzled her face against his. The infant, seeing how Death seemed to, at least, tolerate Poison, was now used to this treatment and squealed happily.  
Poison was one of the very few people actually allowed to talk back to the Firstborn without being beheaded on the spot. And she was shamelessly exploiting that privilege. That didn't mean that Death had no meaning of standing his ground.  
"This infant doesn't need pampering if it's supposed to be a feared warrior."  
"Yeah yeah, whatever. Right now he is a tiny little cutie pie, who needs lots and lots of kisses, right?" She sat War on her examining table.

Death ignored the fact how disrespectful and impudent she was toward him and just exhaled heavily, her attitude regarding him and exaggerated sweet talking to the child clearly tugging on his nerves. It was impossible to beat some manners into her. But strangely enough she only seemed to be acting like this around him. Her behavior towards others was as respectful and normal as it could ever be.  
"If you keep coddling him like that, I'm making you responsible for him turning into a coward.  
"How can you say that! He is still a tiny little newborn." And to emphasize she lifted War up again just to present him with both of her hands in front of Death's face. Poison was about the same height as the Firstborn and indeed the child was still very tiny compared to both of them.  
"He is also three decades old already.", the male Nephilim stated as a matter of fact and leaned against the door frame.

Seeing that she had no way of winning this argument and not wanting to deal with a grumpy Death, Poison, disregarding their previous exchange of words, said in a same matter of fact voice, "Wrath is by the lake with his newest trainee squad." with a slight hint of annoyance.  
Without a word Death pushed himself off and walked out. All that affection Poison was displaying had made him feel sick. Before he was out of ear shot he heard tiny War babbling his incomprehensible infant noises including the misspelling of the Firstborn's name and the healer pretending to understand him.  
"I know sweetie, big brother Deaf is so scary and so unloving. But worry not! Sister Poison will give you aaaall the cuddles you need to be a tall and strong and handsome warrior."  
The Firstborn suppressed the _very_ strong urge to scoff at that.

The lake was very close to the nursery Poison was located at. In fact it was just the hill down and Death could see Wrath already standing on the shore with his younglings playing in the shallow water.  
He and Poison could be almost seen as good acquaintances to Death. Being a Firstborn he saw them grew into fine adults standing on their own feet and establishing themselves as important and well known individuals in the society.  
Poison, a healer, head caretaker and also instructor was responsible to teach the children the most basic healing abilities. Those gifted in curing were taken to her advanced classes.  
Wrath was one of the those, who were predestined for instructing younglings. He was responsible, he was humorous, he was gifted in teaching and he was incredibly popular with the young. And if he wasn't busy with giving lessons, he could be seen on the battlefield as commander and warrior.

When Death nearly reached the shore the other greeted him with a friendly wave of the hand.  
"I saw you handing War over for check ups."  
The Firstborn nodded, both in greeting and to confirm his statement. The shorter Nephilim turned to the few younglings in the water. "How is your new trainee squad doing?"  
"Well", Wrath laughed, "This batch of little rascals looks quite promising."

They observed the dozend younglings running in the water, splashing each other and doing all silly kinds of activities young people would do.  
Children are not able to focus on one thing for a very long time. Death found that tiring. They needed distraction now and then and always _always_ need to use their seemingly endless energy somehow. Running, screaming or playing idiotic games involving physical exercises.  
Whereas Wrath would just lead them to a safe place, where they could fool around to their hearts content, Death would usually drag his youngling to an outpost with weak demons. There they could be chased until exhaustion. It was the best combination of utilize their leftover energy and to let them learn basic survival techniques. Some say Death might be taking it a little too far, but it was not his problem if the children got hurt. It was their fault to be unable to learn faster.

"I'm actually hoping to have your youngling in one of my training classes once he is ready for it." Wrath's green eyes briefly flickered toward the Firstborn's scar on his right eye. "He seems quite promising, too."  
"He is not _my_ youngling. It wasn't entirely my decision to take care of him."  
"Whatever you say. Besides," and now Wrath's uncanny friendly grin spread across his face, "War is so cute! With his tiny little hands and his _huge_ baby blue eyes."

 _No, he is doing it again._  
"Someday I'll have a beautiful woman and she will bear me a very cute child! Just like War! Maybe even cuter!"  
Death turned annoyed away from the other. He came here to escape Poison's rant about how cute War was and now he has to endure Wrath's ramblings about how cute his would-be-child could be. He really had no luck today.  
"You have to let me hold that infant later, so I can practice being a good parent."  
"Forget it."  
"Aw, come on. "

The Firstborn turned his head and looked slightly up, as Wrath was taller than him. "I'm not very fond of this child, but you won't get to hold him."  
"Why not? You are as mean as Poison. She doesn't let me hold even one toddler in her nursery." If Death didn't knew better it looked like the battle worn warrior in front of him was pouting.  
"She is well served by doing so. You have no sense of delicate work!"

The Firstborn was probably referring to an incident in the past, which was equally quite embarrassing for Wrath as it was rage inducing for Death.  
A few centuries in the past Death actually wanted to teach Wrath a few basics in crafting because the other asked him to. It went horribly wrong. All thanks to the other's clumsiness. He had set Adamantite ore on fire. Adamantite. On fire. That was throughout history down right impossible!  
Death's workshop nearly burned down to it's roots and Wrath was never again allowed to touch or even glance at any thing in the Firstborn's crafting place. Ever!

In contrast to that Wrath could nearly handle any weapon that was thrown at him. Even if he never seen it before in his life.  
The universe worked in mysterious ways.

"Pah, you all see what a good father I'll be even without ever handling a toddler before."  
"But beside from that, what do you think of that?" Wrath asked proudly showing of his blond stubbles on his chiseled face by smoothing his hand over it.  
 _A beard?_  
"You are the most handsome Nephilim in this town."  
Deaf to Death's sarcasm -or maybe already immune against- the tall Nephilim triumphantly barked a laugh. "With this I will find my wife who is surely waiting out there for me."  
Sometimes the Firstborn wondered if Wrath was just an idiot, who was involuntarily calling on Death's barely existing pity to be his acquaintance. But then again Wrath could hold his ground against him in a serious sparring match, which was indeed an impressing fact on it's own.

They continued to talk about various things, or rather, the Firstborn making snide comments on everything the other had to say. Then Poison was walking towards them with a tiny War in her arms.

"That was fast."  
"Of course. War is such a well mannered infant as opposed to someone else.", the healer eyed Death suspiciously.  
"I have no idea whom you might mean.", Death said taking the toddler back from her.  
"War's health is overall very good, but he is too small and lithe. What are you doing to the poor baby?", Poison sounded more than accusing.  
"It's not my fault it develops so slowly."  
"Angelcrap, you just have to work harder. Some children need more attention! So please f*cking do that!"

"But be sure to not work yourself to death.", the other male added.  
"Thank you, very helpful advice, I'll take that to heart. What would I do without you people?", Death answered unamused as Wrath and Poison snickered away. War was cheering too, unknowing of what was actually happening.  
"Tch."  
These will be some long _long_ years.

* * *

Author's Note:

Considering the Nephilim society I did a lot of thinking and trying to make some sense, so it could fit somehow in the world. I mean I can't even imagine how immortality feels like or to what extend the Nephilim grew in numbers. I think, in numbers, the Nephilim must be at least around a half of the angel or demon population. They went on full f-word fledged genocide war! And they fought over Eden, which was reserved for mankind. And there are a lot of people running around on earth.  
So many Nephilim couldn't be possibly created by copying and pasting Absalom, right...? Or maybe? Well in fantasy everything is possible and everything can make sense, but somehow I couldn't believe this.  
If there are so many Nephilim around, there has to be some kind of order and a little helping from the biological side.  
Also Nephilim, like angel or demon or any other creature, live quite long. So long that I can't even picture it in any way in my mind. That's why tiny War being 30 must mean literally nothing for very long living beings, right?  
In Darksiders everything is old or ancient, so I guess the guys must be pretty old.

I have the feeling to have gone completely overboard with my thoughts and original characters in this chapter. A lot of my personal Headcanons. I'm sorry if I bored someone to death. No pun intended lol.


	5. Doors and Tears

Now that War had started to walk and made some progress in talking as well as understanding language, Death decided it was time for the child to sleep in it's own room. Too soon? Not for Nephilim children. It wasn't even in the wild. There were four walls that protected it.  
It was old enough already with about fifteen decades.

Putting the child into it's own room was somehow also a relief for the Firstborn. Young War was extremely cuddly and always sought body contact. _Always._ Something Death didn't want or will ever want to consent with. It was preposterous!  
Whenever he changed it's clothes, tucking him into bed or simply feeding. The infant always determined, always reached out to him no matter how many times he had been angry with it.  
All his other younglings in the past tried it too, it was in their nature, but Death's reactions, for example shoving them away or scolding them, were enough to let them back of. War was different. War was unbelievably stubborn and as thick headed as a brick wall!

So Death was more than happy to have the child finally in it's own room. True, the child would probably pester him at daytime, but at least his nighttime won't be disturbed anymore. Let it cry in it's room, it was old enough. Or so he thought.

 _Such a nuisance._  
The infant quickly -too quickly for Death's liking- realized that it was separated from it's Caretaker around night. His complains showed in it's unwillingness to be taken to bed. It resisted fiercely, yelling and crying, not wanting to be away from Death, but the Firstborn was, of course, stronger and just put it into it's sleeping place.  
Soon War seemed to have given up in resisting and just let himself be tugged into bed. And again Death had thought wrong.

The child really started to strain his nerves, promising powerful warrior or not.  
On the first try, after Death closed the door to his bedroom and was ready to rest, he heard shuffling on the door. When he opened it, his suspicion was confirmed. The child somehow managed to fall out of bed, wobble it's way to his room and was now about to pester him. How War opened the door to his own room was a mystery to the Firstborn, because the child was really too short to reach the doorknob.  
None the less the tiny Nephilim still didn't understood Death's intentions wanting to be left alone. To convey his message he slammed the door in War's face. It was impossible to misunderstood _that_ message. Even for a young child.  
Unfortunately _this_ child seemed to be especially slow on certain things.

It kept coming to his room, but found the door closed. War would shuffle around and knock, but Death wouldn't open him. Small hands would sometimes hammer against the door, but no answer. Sometimes he started to whine. Other times he would just cry heartbreakingly and scratch desperately at the door, but Death always denied him what he wanted. The Firstborn purposefully ignored the child. It _really_ had to learn, that Death was not some adult cuddle buddy.  
Ignoring all those attempts to get to him was not easy for the Firstborn. It was actually the ultimate test of his patience. Usually he would just let his temper flare and everyone knew better than to stay in his immediate vicinity, even younglings who were still oblivious to the world.  
But with many other things, War was different here and yelling at him seemed to incite him even more.  
Therefore Death had to try another approach. Ignoring such habits proved useful especially when young Strife and Fury were around. Similar to War they always demanded his attention in the strangest ways.  
Death had to bury his head under pillows to try his best to ignore the child's futile whining.

He already lost count on how many times the youngling tried to get his will.  
The mornings after were often very similar. Death would always find the child laying on the floor in front of his door, sometimes with blanket, sometimes without, curled up to tiny ball. He would just step over it and prepare food for the infant. It could stand up on his own and walk towards the kitchen.  
He as Caretaker may have said he would raise the child and take care of it, but unnecessary touching and affection were never part of the deal. He will raise War like any other youngling he had, no special treatment or what so ever. So he remained colder than an ice block in the Crowfather's domain and stubbornly executed his plans in ignoring the child, as War was pursuing his own stubborn plans in annoying Death.  
There were actually rare mornings, where War was in his room how he should be, but _these_ times the Firstborn could count on one hand.

Then there was this one evening when something changed.

It was -as always- Death putting a very struggling War into bed.  
Somehow the child was already agitated due to the Firstborn's absence for a few long hours over the course of the past few days. Of course, Poison took good care of the child in his absence, but that simply wasn't enough. (Which was exceptionally strange, because the healer _excelled_ at handling infants.)

They were relocating the Abomination Vault and this task was asking for Death's whole and absolute attention. The day had been especially tiresome and it started to claw at his conscious. It was a long and stressful undertaking, but they managed to relocate and secure it sooner than they expected. The Firstborn, of course, did not play a minor role in that.  
He felt the after effects more than he let on. He was tired, yes, and the child was not helping him by resisting his plans in getting the youngling into it's own bed.

In some way the taller Nephilim managed to make War obey and left for his own resting place. With Death's aching mind and aching body, all thoughts still circling the Vault, his fatigue resulted in one special occurrence. One that would slowly start changing his life.

That night, like any other, little War came and found the usually closed door slightly ajar.

Death not being a good sleeper, was still awake and on his desk, heavily contemplating about what he might had forgotten. This feeling was at the edge of his mind and nagging at him. He read all the endless notes he made for the Vault again and again. Trying to figure out if he might have forgotten one ward or one spell protecting it from undesired access. It would be more than inconvenient if there were individuals knowing how to get to their greatest weapons. Weapons that are capable of destroying entire armies single-handedly. If those weapons would turn into wrong hands, the tide could turn against them in search for a home.

All the Nephilim wanted was a place to stay.  
Wherever they went, every world seemed to reject their race sooner or later by withering away.  
Whatever they tried, exploiting all resources of a world until nothing was left or simply living a nomadic life and only take what they needed, it seemed Creation itself didn't want them to exist.  
There had to be one world somewhere. Where they could go to. A place that accepted them for what they are.

The Grand Abominations were a great asset in reaching their goal. Others always frowned upon their actions no matter if good or bad intentions. They actually did try searching and negotiating peacefully for land that could belong to them. They really tried. But everything failed, no one was willing to listen honestly, no one cared for their cursed existence. But they needed a place to belong somewhere. If the Creator gave worlds to every living being, then there ought to be a place for them, too. If there are worlds for angels and demons, there _must_ be place for a race created from their union; cursed or not.  
And when all negotiations fail, you have to take what you deserve by force.

So they had to keep the Vault from unnecessary confidants, to keep their chances. Even from their own people.  
There were some turmoils among them, claiming that their way of living was wrong and going back to the old ways of peaceful negotiations.  
Absalom, Death and all of the Firstborn had to suppress them. If they knew about the Abominations, worse, got their hand on one, their own race would surely be split in several factions and that was really not something they needed.

Everything was really uneasy at that time for Death. So forgetting one minor detail could turn their lives upside down, even more than their current life style was already.  
But what could it be that he might have forgotten?  
And when he heard light tapping of tiny feet, he, in an instant, realized what exactly he had forgotten. He forgot to close a certain door. It wasn't the door to the Vault, no, something far more simpler. He forget to close the door to his own bedchamber.  
 _Well, damn._  
The Firstborn turned around.

As he thought, the child had seen it's opportunity to pester him _again_. It slowly walked towards him a curious look on it's still innocent face.  
Death felt his anger rise in an instant. He was angry at himself for forgetting such a simple task and angry at the child for not stopping to bother him. Yes, an angry Death and an annoying infant was surely the entry point to a blossoming relationship. Would the Firstborn, now, have known how _close_ their relationship actually would become, that they would actually form an unbreakable bond, he would have laughed like a mad man.  
Maybe if he hadn't be so tired, maybe if he had just let the child act freely, maybe their relationship would have started somewhat differently and developed differently.  
But it was useless to think about that, because tonight Death's patience was spent and he snapped.

"What?! You want to stay here? With me?" His voice snapping at the young Nephilim.  
The infant nodded, obviously ignoring his irritated reaction.  
That was it.

"What is wrong with you?! You are old enough to sleep in your own bed. Leave!" The older brother stood up, turned the child around and gave it a hard and rough push to the door. Hard enough for War to topple over onto his knees.  
Death could care less. Really.  
Still fuming he turned to his notes, but decided against sorting them in his current agitated state. After all the Vault seemed secure for now and his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. It was just trying to remind him to restore the wall between him and the youngling.  
With blazing mind and blazing eyes he turned back to the child, who managed to stand up and was turned toward him yet again.  
"Move already!"  
But all the youngling did was standing and looking at the ground. It seemed like something just happened to it.

"I'm waiting.", Death rasped with his gravely voice full of impatience.

Then War's little frame shook silently. Shining droplets left his eyes and fell to the ground. Why was his brother so mean? Letting the door open to give him hopes and then crushing them by pushing him away?  
The child was crying without much noise except the light sniffling now and then.

Death blinked. He had seen weeping children many times before, quite often on the battlefield. Somehow having survived a raid of the Nephilim, walking around between the corpses and ashes. Crying desperately and calling names, which where familiar to them. Most children won't even realize what really happened and would be shedding tears, asking why no one is answering. Heartbreaking as it may have been, Death had never been hesitant to behead those poor souls right on the spot.  
But somehow seeing War crying like this seemed completely different.

Death blinked again. War lifted his hands now trying to wipe his own tears away. He looked slowly up to the Firstborn. The blue hue in his white eyes shone brightly in the dark. The child desperately tried to dry the constant stream of tears, but it obviously failed. The Firstborn suddenly realized how the small being hadn't uttered a single sound since his arrival.  
It was just standing there, crying silent tears. It didn't scream, it wasn't vocal, it didn't even reach out for him. Never until now had War done something akin to that, looking so distressed. For Death it was the first time to see the child like this.  
And he felt his own anger slowly fade away. Being replaced with... something.

War had cried many times before. Mostly because Death didn't seem to be present, whereas he just happened to be in another room.  
But whenever the Firstborn _was_ present, the child always _always_ beamed with a light of a thousand suns. It was practically glowing with joy. Death never really payed attention to those short moments. Yes, he noticed how happy the child seemed to see him, but it was just a child, a toddler even. They laughed all the time.

The youngling seemed, up until now, relatively content. Of course, Death usually ignored the child's happy outbursts or stubborn phases, but War never looked distraught once. It always felt right and the Firstborn got used to their individual behavior. And now?  
Now the youngling seemed to have stopped working properly. Just like a toy that seemed to have broken.  
Was he, the child, perhaps... kaput?  
Did Death had to repair him?

And then Death blinked again. A foreign feeling started picking at his skin and slowly nagged all the way into his core. It was something that felt wrong. Something that made his action seem too cruel. It made his mind reconsider, if he reallydid something appropriate or if he simply overreacted. It felt like it was his fault, that the child stopped working properly... it felt like...  
 _No._  
Was it pity? Was it regret? Whatever it was, it definitely could not be what he was feeling right now. No, not now.  
He never regretted his actions and never pitied anyone on their misery. He'll be damned if he started now. The Firstborn had seen tears many times before and never reacted to them. He also saw War crying times before as a newborn, but this was somehow different. Felt different.  
There have been so many, whom Death treated exactly like this and many reacted similar to War and yet, the Firstborn could only stare at this particular infant and feel... bad.

What was this child doing to him?

He didn't wanted to see the youngling like this, because it produced this foreign feeling and it unnerved him greatly. He wanted that feeling to go away. Immediately.  
So Death bit the bullet.

He slowly stepped to the child. "If I let you sleep here, will you stop crying?"  
Tiny War's stream of tears ebbed away and his already large blue eyes became a little wider in question. Then after seemingly having processed what his brother meant, he nodded slowly.

Moments past with nothing happening. Then Death grabbed the child by it's neck. Much like a mother feline would do to her kittens. The Firstborn placed the infant on the bedside away from the door. After that he rounded his ridiculous large bed and sat down on the other side.  
He observed the infant how it took one of the many pillows lying around and a nearby blanket. Then it proceeded with looking up at him expectantly.

 _What more?_  
"No touching."  
Death, not even glancing a second time at War, lay down and pressed a pillow onto his face. He needed to think.

The child nodded in agreement -for now- and curled up to a small sleepy ball.

Somehow Death knew he just doomed himself with this gesture. He didn't know _why_ he caved in and choose the easiest, but also most annoying solution. He really didn't. It must have something to do with his weakened state right now and this foreign feeling of something resembling... What? Pity? Regret?  
He wished he could care less.

* * *

Author's note:

I edited this again, because a guest mentioned grammar mistakes (Thank you for pointing that out!) and I hope I could fix some of them :)  
Also so much thank you to the guests (Whoever you guys are, you are great!), who are commenting.  
Again it keeps me motivated and content to see others also liking the close relationship War and Death seem to share.


	6. A moment of peace

Some things would never change, Death thought idly to himself as he was moving around in his small humble kitchen. It wasn't much, but he also didn't need more as he didn't need to eat. He was preparing something small in a bowl before pouring the gooey mass into a tin form. Then he put it slowly and carefully into the small fire-pit by the kitchen counter.

Death sat down cross legged beside the fire place and watched the mass heating up. He had to pass the exact moment or else the taste would turn bitter. Something he wanted to avoid at all cost, as the preparation took long enough already.  
The Nephilm leaned back on his hands supporting his weight. The now completely repaired portal to the Abomination Vault was humming in a barely audible tone. Death looked around his small home.

...

"I want to eat that sweet!"  
"Again?"  
"Yes! Pleaaaaase?"  
"War if you keep eating it you'll get tired of it someday."  
"No! It tastes too good for that!"  
Death didn't reply to that. Sometimes it was just useless to discuss with a child. "Well, if you get your desert, will you be able to do your assignment and sleep in your own bed tonight?"

There was a short hesitation in the youngling's movements. He hummed and put a finger on his mouth to think about the deal.  
"I think I can manage that!"  
"I shall prepare your wish then."  
"Yay." War squeaked happily and hopped into Death's small library.  
Whenever his so beloved desert came into play, it was really easy to manipulate the child. Almost too easy. But every simple enough method, that could convince the youngling to fulfill his tasks, was very welcome to Death. Seriously, War's stubbornness was already annoying as an infant and with him growing it will only get worse.  
So, manipulating the youngling with food wasn't such a bad option, considering that he really needed a lot of nutrients to grow strong. War doing his homework without complain was a lucky addition.

When Death turned to the small storeroom in the kitchen, another thought briefly crossed his mind. Usually the young Nephilim would never miss a chance to be with his brother, be it day or night. Did the youngling just traded his older brother for a desert?  
 _Maybe_ the Firstborn should keep a closer eye on young War's priority list.

A few hours went by and they sat on the table in the small kitchen with War happily eating his desert and Death idly regarding the child's assignment. He looked skeptically to the transmutated 'objects' on the table. As times before, the Firstborn saw again, that his young brother was probably made for raw physical things, not complex magic.  
The things on the table... Well, they didn't even looked like the things the instructor for Alchemy tasked him to make. Sadly, they didn't even show any resemblance to the original.

"Brother?"  
"Yes."  
"I've never seen you eat. Anything. Why is that?"

Death looked up from the objects. "You're asking me that after so many years?"  
War looked at him with full mouth and blue eyes shining with curiosity, confirming the question with an "Uh huh."  
 _So nosy._ "It's because I don't need to eat."  
"Really?"  
"Yes." And to answer War's unsaid question. "I only need water occasionally."

"But why am I eating _so_ much then?"  
"That's because you are growing right now, War. You need a lot of nutrients to get strong." _And because your are not Firstborn._

There was a comfortable silence again.  
Just before Death was about to comment on War's transmutation and giving him correcting advises, the other asked again. "Is it because you don't need to eat, that your tummy is so thin?"  
Death felt slightly baffled by this question. Children really asked the most odd questions. "...I was just born this way. There is no why to that."  
"So was I born with scars on my back then?"

That again... War always asked questions about his birth. With the younger growing older it got harder for Death to avoid those questions. He really didn't wanted to talk about War's birth. Not more than necessary.  
It wasn't the birth itself that was bothering Death, it was rather the accommodated thoughts and behavior he used to have. Whenever the child asked, he was always reminded of them. A stark contrast to their now slowly growing relationship.  
"Let's just say there were complications regarding your birth, War."

"Hm must have been some huge complications then." The child reached behind his back and scratched on of two parallel scars. Before Death could start thinking about possible subject changes, the youngling finished his favorite food item and focused his attention on a entirely different topic.  
He held out the bowl to his older brother. "Seconds?"

 _Through and through still only a child._  
"Well, I didn't thought you would turn out to be such a glutton."  
"So no seconds?" A minor distraught look appeared on the young face.

Death wordlessly reached back and removed a towel from the counter uncovering another bowl. It was unnecessary to mention young War's obviously happy reaction to that.

...

A quite and soft knock could be heard. After a moment of no one answering the door slowly slid open and a massive red hooded figure with white hair looked inside.  
"Death?", War stepped in and closed the door.  
His brother didn't seem to be home. What was that? First his eldest brother asked him to come to catch up on things and now he wasn't present to greet his guest? The Red Rider looked around. His brother's home was still as scarce as he remembered from the Grand Abomination's incident. He stepped further inside to stop at the kitchen table made of white bone.  
There was a small plate with a white shining mass. Under that was a small note with a neat curly handwriting.

 _Be right back. Enjoy your wait. -Death_

War looked at the dish again only to recognize his most favorite sweet. Underneath the red hood the stoic feature turned into a small smile.

* * *

Author's Notes:  
This one was very short. Life will be busy for a while now. I still have a few ideas I'd like to write and post, but unfortunately not till next year.  
Thank you readers for actually having interest in those ideas and pushing me to do better! It helped and helps so much, I can't even describe it!I hope the interest will still remain till next year, but regardless of that, thank you for the support until now :)

A little bit early: I'm wishing you nice upcoming holidays and a lucky + healthy new year. See everyone in a new chapter or work!


	7. Hands and Feet

Finally a new chapter! Took me long enough lol.

Warning: Spoilers in the very last paragraph for Abomination Vault. If you haven't read it yet, you can skip that one, because it's just a little addendum :)

* * *

Little War always ran after Death.  
...And when Death meant always, he meant _always_.

What in Abyss' name was wrong with this child? He could go anywhere in his free time and he chose to stay with him? Death? _What the actual hell?!_ The Firstborn being irritated by that was an understatement.  
All other children jumped at the chance to do whatever they wanted and get some free time from their Caretaker. Especially Death's younglings wanted to experience the world without their scary brother and were always eager to leave on their own accord.

But not War. No. This child was in so many aspects different from the other children he experienced.

It started when he eventually started to walk on his own.  
When Death had to leave for various reasons, little War followed him on each step. If the older had to travel by horse, the younger one would wait behind the gates until he came back. If Death stayed within walking distance, the youngling was always seen a few paces behind him.  
It had become a reappearing sight and if someone searched for one of them, they only need to look for white hair on a small head or a scowling Firstborn in a _very_ bad mood.

It was obvious that Death didn't appreciate the constant attention from War. It was unnerving and -to be quite frank- a pain in the ass. As amusing as it was for others so annoying was it for him. Having something so small running around his legs was hindering him in so many aspects and not only in a physical sense.

In contrast to many believes Death was _not only_ an emotionless bastard, who was unsubstantiated cruel to his victims, he _did_ had principles. Even if they seem to be strange, he followed them with an iron will. Or at least he tried.  
Like his brethren the Firsborn was very fluent in cursing language and never hesitated to use it, but as soon as younglings turned up in immediate hearing vicinity his choice of words suddenly changed, even during conversation. Strangely enough he did succeed quite often, but a slip of his tongue wasn't always unpreventable.  
Now with little War by his side, he had to be extra careful as the child was so very eager to learn new words. Why was it he learned cursing words faster than normal language?  
It was frustrating to say the least. Death couldn't even curse properly with the youngling by his side!

His annoyance with young War didn't end there.  
On some night walks home, when the child felt especially bolt and Death hadn't banned him from his side until then, he would try to hold his hand, only to manage to grab a few fingers. Some parents did it with their biological child and War must have adapted that behavior. But this little touch was usually enough for the Firstborn to let his temper flare.  
"Stop that!" He would always shove the youngling away and switch into a long legged, fast paced stride. This way War could barely keep up with his small feet.

Time went by and it was impossible for Death to knock some sense into the youngling to stop following him.  
"Why is it you never listen?"  
It is as if _someone_ taught the child how to _not_ listen to authorities and do whatever he wanted. What kind of role model was that? Some say Death had his own peculiarities. Maybe there was a connection...?

None the less the Firstborn, always being a person of action, made the best out of the duckling's strange attraction to him. He prepared a few little things and the child suddenly needed much more effort to find him. And if it wanted to stay near him, then it better not be caught to soon by Death's watchful senses.

And so training for War began early. Earlier than even his Caretaker had expected, but that was what the youngling got for being a little pest. One of the very first things he would learn, was how to read tracks and follow the target as inconspicuous as possible. Some things can only be learned from experience and this was no different. The Firstborn made sure none would give the youngling more help than necessary even with War being very upset about Death's hiding.

Days went by again and the child turned out to be better at tracking than he would have ever imagined. Even after raising the difficulty bar -rising it to the standards of children- the youngling was determined and quite often successful in following him.

Having found a little challenge for himself, it wasn't that annoying anymore to see the youngling around. If War couldn't find him, then he could be at ease for the rest of the day until they met at home again. But if War was able to find him, well, then Death could only curse the child on the inside and scold himself for underestimating the young talent.

Much later Death would remember, that the little emotion that was rising inside of him at that time could have been interpreted as pride, because War was doing exceptionally well.

...

In his workshop Death rarely got distracted and he wouldn't call his current thoughts a distraction, but it wasn't pleasant either to think of the little youngling all of a sudden. The Firstborn wondered if his little _waste-of-time_ -a loving pet name for War- was dallying somewhere as he wasn't here at the expected time.

But honestly, he could -well he _should_ \- care less. So he brushed the thought off and devoted his attention back to his worktable.  
It was not like he made it too difficult this time. If the child would use his brain than it wouldn't take too much for him to figure his path out.

Death grumbled.  
This child didn't even deserve the Firstborn's wandering thoughts and yet they kept circling somehow. If there are young Nepihlim he should care about, than it should be his twins Strife and Fury. Such promising young people.  
And War? Well, not so promising of course. And War's Phantom? This terrible terrible beast was capable of hurting Death.

He brushed over his right brow bone -barely touching the scar- with his thumb as if he wanted to brush away his thoughts with this small gesture. War was capable enough according to his Phantom's display of power. There was no point in _concerning_ himself with the meatbag's whereabouts.  
Tsk, _concern_.  
Ridiculous.  
He barely cared about others or even himself, why would his mind make any different with a specific child? He let out a low short growl to chastise himself to finally stop wasting time brooding over the child.

...

While Death wasn't one for distractions -most of the time- young War and his childish mind could be distracted in such an easy way.  
Or perhaps, there was something more?

The young Nephilim followed the tracks his Caretaker had given him -as usual-, when something unexpected caught his eyes. Here on the fields buried between dirt and soil was a shiny object.  
On closer examination the child recognized a pretty stone very similar to the ones in Death's workshop.  
War remembered how his brother had been on this acre with the other adults to search for those stones in every nook and cranny, before seeds would be sown out a few days later. They had carriages filled with them and War knew his brother was trying to create something new.

The child also happened to hear the Firstborn using bad language. It must have been, because he always scolded the child when using these words. How these stones were a pain in the butt and how they needed way more to conduct their experiments than expected.  
So this meant he was short of a few of them!  
Wanting to help his brother more than anything, War put his little hands to work and dug the stone, the size of his fist, out. If he found a stone, then Death could resume his work without much interruptions.

The joy of achieving the stone didn't last long, when a soft body collided with the child and claws brushed past his face pulling a few strands of hair loose. _Wha-?_  
Of course, the stone fell out of his hands and before he could react the fluffy animal of a youngling's size was running away with the object in his beak.  
War knew those large armless and bird like creatures. They were notorious for stealing from settlements, especially shiny things. Barely any danger even for children, they were annoyingly persistent in getting their desired token, but also easily scared off.  
If he could only manage to catch up to it and make a scary face.

The animal ran into the nearby woods with the youngling hot on it's heels. One of War's great -or bad- characteristics was his determination and stubbornness to get what he wanted.  
He didn't know how long he ran, but having enough of it he put his energy into one jump and managed to topple the fluffy thief over right into a small clearing. Not interested in the animal the child made for the rolling stone. The creature puffed itself up and intimidating sounds escaped it's throat except for it sounding adorably cute.

Totally oblivious to the gigantic dark shadow approaching behind War, he imitated the bird and stood broad hissing at it. His scary face must have been really scary, because the thief suddenly crouched and ran as fast as it could. The child didn't expect himself to be that terrifying. Living with Death had only merits.  
Lingering to look after the bird War wondered why it was getting dark all of sudden.  
When he turned to the source of the shadow, he came face to face with rows and rows of sharp teeth.

...

How could it be any different, his mold wasn't behaving as it should and having enough of this crap, Death decided to take a short break. Now he was cursing silently and poking around the field to look for any runaway stones needed for his project. All the while wondering where War went, because no one had seen him for quite some time. Not that the Firstborn asked around, others kept telling him missing the little white head.  
Death looked on only to feel unaccomplished and annoyed. Maybe even more than the youngling pestering him with his presence.

Then something shiny caught his eyes.  
There was silvery white hair laying in strands at the edge of the woods. Looked like a little squabble took place and the involved parties made for the woods. Absalom was out of town and the two other Nephilim he knew with white hair were on a mission. So these strands could only mean one thing.  
 _Not my problem, if that brat gets lacerated._

When Death got back to the street something made him stop and look back at the woods. Sun had long started to set, which he must have missed during his cursing and searching. In a few moments, darkness would rise and it would be hard to navigate through the woods... for children.  
It was obvious what the Firstborn was contemplating. Should he? Should he not?

It would be so easy to let the child rot in the forest and claim it was it's own fault. This annoyance of a youngling would finally be gone. His superiors would be outraged and most probably make him pay, considering War's promising future.  
Death knew he himself was too valuable to be executed for any reason and punishment or torture was something he could endure.  
But he also knew that he had a great responsibility regarding War and his community. Years ago, when the child's Phantom appeared the Firstborn instantly understand why he had an auspicious future.  
There was no point in leaving the child behind even if he didn't like him. He exhaled and it almost sounded like a sigh.

After running a hand through his unkempt hair and taking an almost accusing look to the sky -the Creator he only partially believed in- he fully turned to face the woods.  
Curse his own damn rationality!  
Then he slowly made his way to the edge of the woods again and into the thicket of dark greens.  
 _This kid will destroy my sanity someday._

With passing time Death's irritation grew.  
Swallowing his uprising anger to bring his wrath later upon the child, he followed the trace War had been leaving. How ironic. The roles have been reversed.  
At a small clearing the tracks stopped. Upon further observation some places had dents and holes, probably made by a larger predator. Death looked around and found another track. It wasn't even difficult to follow it as the path was literally destroyed. Bushes and trees were knocked down and between large paw prints -probably a Sawtooth- there were much smaller footprints. That must have been War and Death could clearly see what had happened.  
The child was running from something very dangerous, at least for his size.

It didn't take long and Death found a small entrance to a cave with something too big to fit sitting in front of it. It was a big ugly Sawtooth gnawing at something.  
Feeling a strange sensation in his innards Death approached half expecting a dead child and half expecting something else. Maybe the child had really been a waste of time.  
But it was only the leather bracer the Firstborn had crafted him.

Not even utilizing Harvester he made quick work of the beast and inspected the entrance of the cave. Too small for him, but big enough for a child to squeeze through.  
Death inhaled. "Hey brat, are you in there?"  
His loud shout echoed from the wall and he could hear his own voice traveling far into the cave. So it must be bigger than the entrance let on. Time to search for another entry then.

After throughout searching -more throughly than it could be justified- Death found a way into the cave. The smell of strong acid assaulted him as soon as he made the first few steps. Soon enough he found the source of this burning stench. A lake of steaming, disgusting and thick liquid was laying right in front of him. And how could it be any different, his little-waste-of-time was crawling around the rock formation near it's edge.  
He had really no idea what the child was doing right then, and he also didn't care, but the moment he saw him, the moment War fell feet first.

Death was known for his incredible reaction time. His movements were swift and nimble as none other had seen or could reproduce, or so it was told. But in this instant, he even surpassed himself and almost made light itself jealous for his speed.  
Later that evening the Firstborn wondered what in the nine hells made him act this fast.

Before War's shoulders started to slowly sink into the lake, he grabbed the small torso emerged in the liquid and pulled him out in one go. The Firstborn immediately recognized this kind of acid when it made contact with his skin, burning the outer layer of his think skin already.  
Not wasting any time he rushed to the small running stream just outside the cavern entrance and pushed the squirming child into the icy water.

Disregarding War's high shrieks of discomfort, Death continued to rip the acid drenched as well as already dissolving clothes from the small body with his bare hands. As he was removing the partly burned fabric, he ignored the searing pain in his hands in favor of water running over the thin soft skin of the child. Luckily for him he was wearing only enchanted clothes the Firstborn had given him, so acid didn't had enough time to destroy the fabric _and_ break War's skin. Though parts of his body were oddly red, there was no visible open wound.

Death on the other hand didn't have so much luck.  
When he finished wrapping the shivering child into his own purple cowl, his wounds around his forearms had already deepen. The inner flesh was shining in a disgusting manner, as there was barely blood pumping out and on one particular spot his bone became visible, enjoying the fading sunlight. No matter how leathery or dense his skin was from years of fighting had become, this kind of acid was never lightly to deal with.  
How was it the child always found the most uncommon and improbable places?

Speaking of the child where the _f*ck_ did he ran off to again? Looking around and rinsing water over his arms he found War rummaging around in his torn clothes. This brat...  
First running away, causing nothing but trouble and now he still had the nerve to keep playing with danger. "Stop that! Haven't you seen what this acid will do to you?"

If course War didn't listen - _as usual_ \- and Death got angrier with every passing moment. "Get away from that! I don't have time to care for a wounded child!"  
He grabbed the child away from his object of interest and examined him or _tried_ to examine him. The youngling was restless and scolding him seemed to have the opposite effect. Why didn't he stop moving so Death could take proper care of him?!  
"Why are you never listening to me? There is a limit to your disobedience."

The child winded himself out of the Caretakers grip and carefully pulled something out of the pile of fabric. He presented it to his brother with stretched out arms.

Almost at the brink of snapping Death stopped dead in his tracks and could suddenly only stare at the object. It was a shining stone. One of the stones he would need many more of if project of him was going on for longer.  
"For you.", he heard the tiny voice said.  
 _What-?_  
For him? What? This stone?  
Did this child came all the way here only to get this gem? No, he rather must have found it on the fields and got sidetracked.

So what if this thing was for him? Did the child want a medal for causing trouble obtaining a simple crafting element? Death kept scolding him "What do you expect? You want to be praised for that?! For running away and endangering yourself for this simple stone?"

That was of course not the reaction little War had expected from his brother. Death's eyes were glowing like fire in the up crawling darkness giving him a more than intimidating look and his sharp teeth were revealed in a particular annoyed snarl.  
Suddenly the child seemed to shrink into the huge cowl around his shoulders. Disappointment and sadness wandered into his facial expressions and he lowered his hands.

"You know that disobeying your elder can lead you to serious trouble. You know that not a single child is allowed to leave the settlement, not until proper survival skills are taught. And you should have seen by now, that you could have died right then. Not speaking of the Sawtooth that was chasing you!"  
"But-"  
"Stop disobeying for Creator's sake! We need to get you to a healer now. Luckily for you Poison doesn't mind seeing you even at this late of an hour."

The child in front of him seemed to shrink even more. "I'm sorry." A last resort to not anger the brother further.  
"Damn right you are sorry!"  
War started to cry quietly. He just wanted to help his brother, but everything he did seemed to have the opposite effect.

"Stop weeping! We are going." Without warning War was thrown over his shoulder and long strides made for their settlement. Death had enough. With night time already around he didn't have time and the nerve to wait for the child's small feet to finally hit home, so carrying him was the most efficient way.

The child on the other hand didn't understood the world, first he scolded him and now he carried him? Maybe his brother wasn't as mad as he first thought. The child tried his very best to stifle his crying and with the night wrapped around them, fatigue swamped over the small body. Hanging over Death's shoulders the child soon fell asleep.

...

"How could that even happen?"  
"Let's just say the child wasn't obedient enough _again_ and an accident happened."  
"Accident my ass. More like _you didn't took enough care of him_.", Poison was about to exhaust Death's patience as usual.

"How long until he fully heals?", the Firstborn asked, wanting nothing to get this over with.  
"Well, if he won't get a fever tonight, then he is off the hook. But as soon as his temperature rises, you'll come back to me immediately. Do you hear? _Immediately_! I don't want you running around doing whatever you want."

Death just shrugged at her rant. "Why accusing me, this little brat is not listening. I don't even know where he might have picked up this kind of attitude."

A short conversation pause followed with Poison crossing her arms and giving him an incredulous look.  
"What?", he snapped.  
Her face changed into confusion as if Death had missed something obvious. "Nothing." Then she turned to little War, rubbed a soothing salve on his partly red skin again and handed him back to Death. "Any complications and you call me right away!"

With a grunt the Firstborn left and soon had put War into bed. In Death's own bed mind you.  
This way observing the child was a much easier task, not because he was concerned of some sort or other preposterous reasons.  
He sat beside him, back leaning on the headboard and examined his own wrapped forearms. Poison did a marvelous job in first aid and what did she say again? Even with his healing ability he needed to bandage the wound for a few years and with no doubt, unsightly scars will adorn his arms.  
Others got all of their scars in battle. Death got his for taking care of a little nuisance. He briefly brushed over the scar on his right brow.

During the night War was restless, threshed around and kept kicking off the blanket. Not a good sleeper himself the Firstborn stood awake the whole night and always pulled the blanket back on the child.  
"Don't thresh around so much, you need this blanket."  
"No. Hot."  
"Did you forget what your healer said? Sweating will release remaining acid residue."

"Don't like hot."  
Death let go of pend up air in his lungs. Not even in this enervated state, little War listened to him. What a piece of work...  
Now being really tired of the youngling's shit, the Firstborn wrapped the child in fabric for the last time the night and secured an arm around him. This way the small bundle would stop removing the blankets. Some other might think of this scene as Death hugging the small child. "Annoying and disobedient little pest."

Soon enough the youngling fell into a deep slumber and wriggled closer to him.  
As times before Death really hoped the child was worth all his trouble...

He turned his head to take a look at the stone laying on the bedside table.  
Well, the child did deserve some credit for holding a Sawtooth off long enough to find a hiding spot. And tracking the thief of the crafting stone wasn't as easy as following the obvious Firstborn's tracks. And in his young age he could already recognize important objects for his Caretaker.

...Did Death just made excuses for the child's disobedience? ...Maybe he did work a little too much today.

...

When the eldest Horseman registered the crimson clad meteor to be his youngest brother crushing the supposedly angel Samyaza to the ground, he needed to do a double take.  
And right after War was assaulted by the Redemption canon, a brief thought crossed Death's mind before his anger took over, hurling his brother into the next wall. _What in Oblivion's name is he doing here!? That idiot never heeds my words!_


End file.
